


Hudders & Holmes Movie Night

by GarudaDreamsOfRain



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarudaDreamsOfRain/pseuds/GarudaDreamsOfRain
Summary: Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson watch Shadowlands





	Hudders & Holmes Movie Night

"So, what tortures have you devised for me this evening, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked as he flopped on the settee in his jammies and blue dressing gown. "What fiendish, disgusting treacle will be oozing out of my television?" He propped his socked feet on the table.

"Oh, Sherlock," she responded with a warm smile. "You'll adore this one. It's called Shadowlands. It's a love story."

"They're all love stories," he muttered grumpily. "The only thing you watch, I take it. Why can't you watch this garbage in your own flat?" he said, clutching a pillow to his chest as protection against the sledgehammer of movie love that was soon to assault him. "Why must you burden me every Thursday night with some horrendous load of melodramatic nonsense?"

"Don't be silly, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, as she neatly rolled a blunt. "You know my DVD player isn't working. Three months ago you promised to buy me a new one since you broke mine, and you have yet to do so. So I'm afraid you're stuck with me and my preferences in film." She lit the joint, took a deep puff, and passed it to him. "Don't bogart that, Sherlock. I want some, too, for a change."

"When have I ever smoked all of your herbal soother?" he responded, affronted, and took a gigantic hit, as if the magic smoke would serve as a charm against the upcoming dreadnaught of emotion. "And it's not my fault your DVD player got broken. It was begging for that bullet. Dirty Dancing, indeed."

"Pop this into your player, will you, dear?" she asked, passing him the disc and reclaiming her joint.

Sherlock got up with a groan, inserted the disc and hit play. He threw himself back on the settee and sulkily asked, "What's this one about then? Two nubile flavors of the moment, pretty but untalented SAG members doing their best to make moony eyes at each other in Chemistry class?"

She laughed. "Oh, Sherlock, that was Twilight and we watched that three weeks ago. No, this movie is about an emotionally repressed man who thinks he has all the answers to life, but soon discovers his understanding is juvenile, shallow, and incomplete." She pursed her lips slightly and gave him The Look of Irrefutable Meaning.

"Oh, God, no!" Sherlock wailed, pretending to stab himself repeatedly in the heart. "I don't know which of these are worse, the ones that are vapid or the ones that slap you upside the head with deep yet tender feelings. Why did I agree to watch this with you, anyway?"

"Because you adore me," she answered with smooth confidence. "And you always adored the Narnia books. Your mum told me. Now shut up, it's starting."

Sherlock hit the pause button on the remote. "Hang on, this is about Narnia?"

"No, dear. This is about C.S. Lewis, who wrote the Narnia books."

"I know who wrote the Narnia books," Sherlock muttered. "I'm not an idiot."

"All signs to the contrary," she fired back, continuing on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Anthony Hopkins leads this sterile, dry, unemotional, controlled, smarter than everyone else academic life, completely devoid of any love or intimacy..."

"All right!" Sherlock shouted, rolling his eyes. "I get it!" 

"... with his best friend, his brother," she went on, trying to hide her smile, "and slowly begins to realize, after meeting Debra Winger, that he's lonely and that the pat answers he's devised for his life are unfulfilling. So he takes a risk which changes his life and his understanding of the world."

"Fine. Whatever," Sherlock shrugged. "This will be the death of me, but I always knew you were trying to kill me, Mrs. Hudson," he finished. A tiny smile stretching the left side of his mouth belied his belligerence. "Can we just get on with it?"

"Of course, dear. But be prepared. This one will rip your heart out."

Sherlock snorted inelegantly and hit the play button.

-Two Hours Later-

"Are there any more tissues in your box?" Sherlock asked, his deep voice quavering. "Mine's empty." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and sat up from where he'd been curled next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. The table in front of them was littered with used tissues, empty tea cups, and a plate with three leftover chocolate biscuits.

"Just a few, dear," she answered, pulling one out and handing it to him. Sherlock blew his nose, threw the tissue on the table, and heaved a sigh. "We'll need more for next week," she said.

"That was...amazing," he conceded, not willing to look Mrs. Hudson in the eye just yet. "Mind you, it's all hogwash, though," he added, his back straightening a bit as he attempted to locate his imperious disdain. "God, I'm a mess. My allergies must be acting up." He sniffed a little and attempted a fake sneeze. "Maybe I'm catching a cold?"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, smiling, "you sobbed out loud during the scene in the attic. Twice."

"I had a biscuit caught in my throat," he said defensively.

"You used up an entire box of tissues," she persevered.

"It was nearly empty to start with!" he countered.

Mrs. Hudson nodded knowingly. "Tell yourself any thing you like, Sherlock," she said with a wave of her finger. "The fact is you were affected. Emotionally." Sherlock looked at her, aghast, like she had just offered him the worst insult in the world. "Well, I'm off," she said, standing up to leave. "I'll leave you to clean up the evidence of your...allergies. You can dissemble all you like, dear, but the fact is there's nothing better than being in love. Nothing," she said pointedly. Sherlock didn't answer but looked at his feet, quietly thinking. "Next Thursday, then?" she finished, turning towards the door.

"Next Thursday," Sherlock affirmed, nodding his head. Just as she reached the door, Sherlock spoke. "Mrs. Hudson?" She turned and looked at him. "I know it's late, but um, well...do you think Molly Hooper might still be up?"


End file.
